


Everybody Lies

by Icicle



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, House M.D.
Genre: Adaptation, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Hospital, Blow Jobs, Boss Harry, Boss/Employee Relationship, Bottom Draco, Disabled Character, Doctors & Physicians, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Gen, Good Slytherins, HP: EWE, Healer Draco Malfoy, Healer Harry, Healer Harry Potter, Healer Hermione Granger, Healers, Humor, Hurt Draco Malfoy, Hurt/Comfort, I Will Go Down With This Ship, M/M, Medical Mysteries, Mysterious illness, Past Relationship(s), Pining Harry, Post-War, Sexual Content, Slytherins, Slytherins Being Slytherins, Smart Draco, Smart Goyle, Smitten Harry, Snarky Draco Malfoy, St Mungo's Hospital, Unrequited Love, Unresolved Romantic Tension, Unresolved Sexual Tension, inspired by House MD, why do I keep tagging?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-31
Updated: 2017-01-14
Packaged: 2018-09-13 18:45:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,590
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9136861
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Icicle/pseuds/Icicle
Summary: Harry is the youngest Healer to ever run a hospital. Draco is his best Healer, and along with his world class team of Hermione Granger, Theodore Nott, and Zacharias Smith, they solve cases that no one else can crack. This doesn’t mean that Draco isn’t still the world’s biggest prat, even if he is sexy. Harry has no intention of sleeping with him — again — especially when he continues to obsess over dead patients and put his hospital at risk.A Post War AU. Based on House M.D. Not a Crossover.





	1. Welcome to St James' Hospital

**Author's Note:**

> Author’s Notes: This fic was written for the Bottom!Draco Adaptions fest. 
> 
> The prompt involved Draco as Gregory House—the grumpy, medical genius, who solves obscure medical mysteries and pushes Harry’s buttons. Harry as Lisa Cuddy, Draco’s boss and hospital administrator, who has to put up with all of Draco’s childish antics but is also secretly in love with him. Gregory Goyle as James Wilson, Draco’s best friend and enabler. Hermione Granger, Theodore Nott, and Zacharias Smith as Draco’s Diagnostic Team.
> 
> Although this fic is based on House M.D., you don't actually have to know anything about House to understand it. 
> 
> Happy New Year Everyone!

**Disclaimer:**  Harry Potter characters are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. House M.D. and its characters are the property of David Shore and Fox. No profit is being made, and no copyright infringement is intended. This fic is based on House M.D. seasons 1-3 and particularly episodes, “Need to Know” and “All In”. One specific quote is taken from episode "Now What?".

* * *

 **Title:**  Everybody Lies

 **Author:**  Icicle  

 **Pairings:**  Harry/Draco, Hermione/Theo Nott

 **W** **ord Count:**  ~15k

 **Warnings/Contains:** Post War AU, snarky!Draco, a mixture of magical and Muggle medicine (some of it embellished and played with on my part), disabled Draco (he has a permanent limp), mysterious illnesses, UST, a mostly gen fic

 **Author’s Notes:**  A, you are the best beta a girl could want. Thank you for helping me make sense of my crazy mind. This fic was written for the BottomDraco Adaptations fest. I loved playing with Harry/Draco in a House M.D. universe.  I hope you like it as much as I enjoyed writing it! 

* * *

 

*** 1 ***

  
  
  
  
  
Harry sat at his desk, leaning back in his worn leather chair and appreciating the magnificent view. Even after ten years, he still couldn't believe that this was his office, his million Galleon view of the London skyline. He was always modest about his accomplishments, but even he had to admit that being the youngest director of a hospital ever was impressive. His hospital, St James, had just celebrated its ten year anniversary. For years now, Harry had been able to accomplish his dream, to bring affordable healthcare to everyone: wizards, magical creatures, and Muggles alike.   
  
St James was the first of its kind, a fusion hospital that used both traditional magical Healing blended with Muggle medicine. All of his Healers were both trained in Magical Healing and attended medical school. His hospital had a dual teaching program with King’s College School of Medicine to allow Healers to take classes in both specialties. At first, sceptics had told him that this experimental hospital would never work, that respectable wizards would never want to be treated alongside Muggles, but Harry had stayed strong. After all, the father of ‘Muggle’ Medicine, Hippocrates, was a wizard. It didn’t take long before Harry was able to convince more witches and wizards to join his cause.   
  
While it was true that the number of pureblood patients that were treated at St James was minuscule, Harry’s hospital had recently passed St Mungo's as the best hospital in England. Even the most traditionalists of Healers accepted that at least in certain situations, Muggle medical techniques were superior to magical ones. His hospital even had the best and first Diagnostic department in the UK. Unfortunately, that same department also had the highest number of lawsuits, but Harry supposed that nothing was perfect. At least, for the first time in a long time, he knew that he was doing something that mattered—helping people, saving lives.  
  
He turned his head away from the large glass window and stared at the framed portraits on his wall—one of his parents and the other of the four Marauders. Since he opened this hospital, he always tried to imagine what his parents would say to him if they were here. Would they be proud of him? Harry liked to imagine that they would be, even if his staff did compose of an annoyingly large number of Slytherins. 

  
A loud knock roused Harry from his thoughts.   
  
  
“Open up! Open up!” a deep female voice shouted through the door.  
  
“You can't go in there. Healer Potter asked not to be disturbed!”   
  
Harry recognised the voice of his troubled assistant Martha and decided to help. She never had been good at dealing with disgruntled patients. He didn't have the heart to fire such a sweet girl.   
  
With a wave of his hand, Harry unlocked the door and was greeted by his red-faced assistant and an older couple. The wife, who had wild red hair that reminded him of Ginny, stormed into his office and sat in the closest chair to his desk, not waiting for an invitation to sit. Her dark-haired mousy-looking husband trailed behind her and took the remaining empty seat.  
  
“It's fine,” Harry said to Martha. “I have some time.”  
  
Martha eyed him cautiously, hiding behind her pale fringe. “I'm sorry,” she whispered. “I tried to—”  
  
Harry attempted to smile reassuringly. “I'll buzz you if I need you. Leave us.”  
  
Martha hung her head and headed for the door, still mumbling apologies underneath her breath.   
  
“My apologies.” Harry turned to the couple. “How can I help you...Mrs-?”   
  
Harry assumed this wouldn't be a pleasant conversation from the way they had stormed into his office, but he had a lot of experience in appeasing people and getting angry never helped.  
  
“Mrs Sartoli,” the red headed woman answered. She crossed her arms in front of her chest and frowned. “I did  _not_  sleep with my sparring partner. The idea is preposterous. Where did one of your Healers get the right to accuse me of such—”  
  
Harry closed his eyes and sighed loudly.  _Here we go again_ , he thought. Quickly, he held up a hand to stop the woman from speaking and buzzed his assistant with the new magical crystal ball intercom system, Wizardcom, which Hermione had developed for the hospital.   
  
“Martha,” Harry said, trying to keep his voice as even as possible, “get me Healer Malfoy. _Immediately_.”   
  
There was no doubt in his mind that Malfoy was the Healer responsible. Any time someone came to him with a complaint, it was  _always_  about Malfoy. If he weren’t the hospital's best Healer, solving cases and curing patients that no one else could ever figure out, Harry would have fired the idiot a long time ago. Too bad he was also the world's biggest prat. And Harry’s not so secret crush.

 

*** * ***

  
  
  
  
Thirty minutes went by before Malfoy _actually_ showed up. Harry was certain that Martha told Harry to come to his office immediately, but as usual, Malfoy had to be a pain and do things on his own time.   
  
“You rang, Boss?” Draco stood in the doorway of Harry's office, leaning on the frame and looking undeniably gorgeous.  
  
“Yes, Healer Malfoy. Thirty minutes ago,” Harry snapped. “Thank you for fitting us into your busy schedule.”  
  
Malfoy shrugged and pretended to look ashamed, but Harry could see the ghost of a smirk forming on his lips, how those annoyingly grey eyes of his were amused.   
  
“Well, you know, I was busy...saving lives and all.” This time Draco's lips did break into a smirk. He stepped out of the doorway and started limping towards Harry's desk, putting his weight on that familiar black snakehead walking stick, which Harry knew had belonged to Lucius.   
  
“Right.” Harry glanced at the clock, 2 pm. He knew exactly what Draco did every afternoon and it had nothing to do with saving lives. Every afternoon, unless he had some big case, Draco terrorised the new interns or wasted time in the hospital's free Muggle clinic, watching soap operas in the lounge rather than treating patients.   
  
Draco ignored the couple that was in the room and planted himself on top of Harry's desk. He crossed his long legs and then twirled his walking stick in his fingers.   
  
“Sorry,” he finally said to Mr Sartoli, when he accidentally grazed him with the walking stick. “Cripple here. I have no control over my reflexes sometimes.”  
  
Harry snorted and tried to cover it up with a cough.  _No control over his reflexes, my arse,_ Harry thought. He'd bet twenty Galleons that Draco hit the bloke on purpose. Draco was the most coordinated person he knew, bum leg or not.   
  
“Just like you have no control over wearing your lab coat?” Harry asked, not being able to stop himself before he fell into the familiar routine of arguing with Draco.  
  
Malfoy rolled his eyes. “Sorry, Potter, my coats are being cleaned. It  _won't_  happen again.”  
  
“For the last eight years?” No matter how many times Harry asked Malfoy to wear his lab coat, he always showed up without it. At least he had the decency to stick to the hospital’s policy of Muggle clothing. He wore a faded pair of denims, a white oxford shirt, a grey jacket, and the most atrocious pair of trainers that Harry had ever seen. Neon green.   
  
Malfoy rolled his eyes again and stopped twirling the walking stick. “Stop exaggerating, Healer Potter. You're making me look bad in front of our guests.” He turned towards the couple, who were strangely quiet throughout the entire conversation, and smiled. “He's a big baby,” he said to Mrs Sartoli, “never knows when to shut up.” He tugged on the collar of his grey jacket. “See, I'm wearing a coat. A very fashionable one.”  
  
Harry sighed loudly.  _Merlin, give me patience_ , he thought.   
  
“Healer Malfoy,” Harry said, using his ‘don't you dare test me’ voice, “Mr and Mrs Sartoli have been patiently waiting to meet with you. How about you give them your attention?”   
  
Draco pressed his lips into a thin line and then turned to Mrs Sartoli, looking her over closely. “You're  _not_  my patient. I've never treated you.”  
  
Mrs Sartoli let out a piercing laugh. “Really, that's interesting because I may not be  _your_  patient, but you have no problem making accusations against me. I am  _not_  having an affair.”   
  
Draco's eyes widened, finally understanding why he was there. All Harry could do was bite down on his lip and hope that this exchange wouldn't end in another lawsuit.   
  
“Ahh.” Draco’s eyes were utterly amused. He turned to the woman's husband. “Now, I remember you. Mr Herpes, of course. I informed you that your wife is screwing around with her sparring partner.”   
  
Mr Sartoli gulped and tore his gaze away from Draco, which only made Draco smile wider. For several seconds, he studied both the husband and wife, and then finally spoke. “Perhaps...I was mistaken, Robert, and your wife  _isn't_  sleeping around.”  
  
“It's Joseph.”  
  
“Whatever.” Draco uncrossed his legs and then spun around to face Mrs Sartoli. “When you use the loo, Madam, do you ever sit down on the toilet?”  
  
Harry held his breath as he watched this encounter unfold. He had a terrible feeling that something dreadful would happen, but Draco was ‘behaving’, at least for his standards, so he decided to keep quiet. _For now._  
  
Mrs Sartoli furrowed her brow. “Sometimes,” she said, confusion obvious on her face.   
  
“And do you always use Sanitation Charms?”   
  
“Always.”  
  
“Excellent.” Draco nodded and then turned to Mr Sartoli. “And you?”   
  
Mr Sartoli blinked rapidly and stared at Malfoy as if he were possessed. “You cannot be serious. What does this have to do with Sara's affair?”  
  
“Just answer the question,” Mrs Sartoli snapped.   
  
“I can assure you, Robert, your answer is of the utmost importance. And completely relevant.”  
  
“It's Joseph.” He frowned. “I think I always use a Sanitation Charm.”  
  
Draco sighed much louder than necessary. “Too bad.”   
  
“Why?” Mr Sartoli asked.   
  
“Because...although the chance is extremely rare, it's possible to contract herpes from a contaminated toilet seat cover. That  _could_  have explained why both of you are faithful but—”  
  
Mr Sartoli’s eyes grew wide and his face paled. “Maybe I'm wrong.”  
  
Draco raised an eyebrow.  
  
“Maybe I forgot to use a Sanitation Charm once or twice.” Mr Sartoli’s voice was low and uncertain. “Probably on that bender I went on last weekend.”   
  
“Is that so?” Draco asked, his eyes flashing animatedly. “Fascinating.”   
  
Harry let go of the breath he was holding. What in Merlin's name was Draco talking about? This was the most idiotic train of thought that Harry had ever heard. It was impossible to get any form of the herpes virus from a public toilet. What was Draco playing at?   
  
“Healer Malfoy, I don't think—”  
  
“Is this true, Healer Potter?” Mrs Sartoli asked, her bright blue eyes, shining with hope.   
  
“Erm..” Harry's voice was stuck in his throat. It was his philosophy to always be open and honest with his patients, but at the same time, he didn't want to break this woman's heart. She really did look a lot like Ginny.   
  
Before he could finish responding, Draco started cackling and Mrs Sartoli got her answer. She removed her wedding band from her finger and flung it at Mr Sartoli. “You bastard,” she yelled and then turned around and ran out of Harry's office.   
  
“Get a herpes test,” Draco called after her. He was still chuckling and once again twirling his walking stick. “Well, she was in a hurry.”  
  
Mr Sartoli quickly rose from his chair. “Thanks a lot,” he grumbled, and then ran out of Harry's office as well, chasing after his wife. “Honey? Darling...wait! I'm sorry.”  
  
Harry let out a loud groan of his own. “Well, I hope you're happy.”  
  
Draco smirked. “Exceptionally.”   
  
Harry shook his head. “How did you know it was him who cheated? And don’t give me that ‘everybody lies’ rubbish again.”  
  
“Easy. Anyone gullible enough to believe that story about contracting herpes from a toilet seat is clearly guilty.” He paused and twisted his lips into a haughty smirk. “And...lying.”   
  
Harry bit down on his lower lip. “Uh-huh. How many marriages is it now that you've destroyed?”  
  
Draco tapped his fingers against Harry's desk, pretending to be casual. “74...but who's counting?”   
  
Harry sighed. He'd never understand how Draco's twisted mind worked, how he actually got joy out of causing other people agony. Sometimes, he questioned why he was interested in Draco in the first place.   
  
“Well, at least they didn't sue.”  
  
“Silver lining. Exactly. I like the way you think, Potter.”   
  
“That's great, Malfoy, but why don't you get out of here? I have work to do and you have—” Harry grimaced but then broke out into a fake smile. “I don't know...a million clinic hours that you owe me.”   
  
Draco opened his mouth, clearly about to protest, when the crystal ball on Harry's desk vibrated and flashed bright blue.   
  
“Hold that thought.” Harry pushed down on the crystal ball and a miniature version of Martha's face greeted him. “Yes?”   
  
“Sorry to bother you, Healer Potter, but there's a patient downstairs asking about you. Marvin Chase. He's in the clinic with bloody diarrhoea. He's hemodynamically stable but—”  
  
Draco reached across Harry's desk and picked up the crystal ball, startling Martha and annoying Harry. “Is he having any coordination problems?”  
  
“Erm.. I don't—”  
  
Quickly, Harry snatched back the crystal ball and dismissed Draco's line of questioning. He knew exactly what Draco was thinking, where he was going with this. “Martha, it sounds like dehydration and gastroenteritis to me. Tell, Marvin, I'll be right down.”   
  
Harry ended the call with Martha before Draco had a chance to interrogate her further.   
  
“But what if?”  
  
“But nothing, Malfoy.” Harry used his stern voice again. “This is a six-year-old Muggle boy. The last I checked you had no interest in treating Muggles and working in the free clinic. You know that Muggles tend to die if you treat them with magic.”  
  
“People change, Potter.” Draco’s eyes were wide and pupils dilated. “I find six-year-old Muggle boys fascinating. And how kind of you for filling me in on that titbit about what happens to Muggles treated with magical remedies. It’s not like I went through Healer Training and Medical School.”  
  
“Uh-huh. Well, this is  _my_  patient, Malfoy, and I refuse to let you go near him. He's not Esther. Now get out of here.”   
  
“Alright then, have a good afternoon, Potter.” Malfoy removed himself from Harry's desk and then limped out the door.   
  
Harry expected more of an argument. He'd seen that far off look in Draco's eyes before, too many other times. Every time a patient came in exhibiting those same symptoms, Draco usually leeched onto the case, tortured the patient with unnecessary and painful tests, until Harry intervened and ruled that the patient was perfectly healthy and didn't have Esther's disease. It was strange that Malfoy had agreed with him so readily. Perhaps he was finally letting Esther go. It was about time. That poor old woman had died 15 years ago. 

 

**To be continued…**

 


	2. Draco's Team

 

 

*** 2 ***

  
  
  
  
Draco limped into his office, happy to see that his team was already there. Granger, Nott, and Smith were seated at a glass table. Granger was reading a book and Nott and Smith were engrossed in a game of Wizard’s chess.   
  
He waved his walking stick over the board game and vanished the chess set.   
  
Nott narrowed his eyes. “Hey, Malfoy, what do you think you're doing?”   
  
Smith groaned. “Yeah, what's your problem? We were in the middle of a game.”   
  
“Yes, I can see that,” Draco drawled. “I'm glad to see my team is spending their afternoon so  _productively_  in my absence.”   
  
“Granger!” Draco yelled at Hermione's bushy head, who hadn’t looked up from her book. “I know you enchanted that magazine to look like a textbook. Stop reading about how to give Nott better blowjobs.”  
  
Draco paused, waiting for Hermione’s reaction; she blushed fiercely and then he continued. “Potter needs you in the clinic. We have a patient. A six-year-old boy named Marvin.” He leant over the table and placed his walking stick on the table, covering Hermione’s book. “Make sure you test his coordination and bring me his chart ASAP.”   
  
Granger attempted to cover up her embarrassment with a scowl and eyed Draco suspiciously. “Why don't you do it?”  
  
“Potter asked for _you_.”  
  
“Then, why didn't Harry come to me personally?”  
  
Draco banged his walking stick against the table. “Granger, Granger, how am I supposed to know how Potter thinks? You’re the one that’s supposed to specialise in speaking idiot Gryffindor. Just go do  _your_  job.”   
  
Hermione huffed and rose from the table. “You better not be lying to me, Malfoy.” Without another word, she shuffled out the door, the annoying clickity-clack of her kitten heels, echoing behind her.   
  
“Marvellous.” Draco Summoned the whiteboard in the corner and started writing on it, making two columns and labelling them Marvel and Esther.   
  
“Now, what do 60-year-old women and 6-year-old boys have in common?”  
  
Draco twisted his head behind his shoulder and stared at Nott and Smith, giving them his best ‘I'm waiting’ look.   
  
Smith furrowed his brow and raised one eyebrow. “Er...they’re both annoying.”  
  
Nott sat back in his chair, tilting the front legs off the ground. Draco had an urge to knock Nott flat on his arse. But they were technically mature adults now. There was no reason to continue playing childish pranks.  
  
“They both have weaker immune systems.”   
  
Draco scoffed and put down the erasable quill he was holding. “Really, Nott? Tell me something a first year doesn’t know. It’s not like this is  _important_  or anything.” Quickly, he spun around and knocked Nott’s chair back down on the ground. Nott sputtered and almost face planted into the floor.  _So much for being an adult_ , Draco thought, o _ld habits die hard._  
  
Smith let out a loud snort, nearly choking on his laughter.   
  
“Bloody hell Malfoy! What...is Potter limiting your Pain Potions again?” He pulled his lips into a smirk. “Or maybe he’s not putting out.”  
  
Draco huffed, wrapping his fingers more tightly around the snakehead of his walking stick. Normally, he liked arguing with Nott. Theodore was one of the few wizards who could challenge him intellectually, but they didn’t have any time to waste. If this patient did exhibit coordination problems, then he was most likely suffering from the same disease that killed Esther and would be dead within 24 hours. They needed to start treating him and fast.   
  
“For the last time, Potter and I are  _not_  shagging. And in case you’ve forgot it’s your job to help me with my cases. I don’t pay you to play chess.”   
  
Nott tilted his long, thin neck back and laughed. “You don’t pay us anything. Potter does.”   
  
“Give us a break, Malfoy. We haven’t had a case in weeks. We’re just a bit—”  
  
“Slow. Yes, I realised. But that’s not an excuse. Give me something I can work with.”  
  
Nott rolled his eyes again. “I was going to say rusty. Stop being such an arse all the time...just because you’re not getting any doesn’t mean you have to take it out on the rest of us.”  
  
“Har-har, aren’t you the comedian? Patients are dying...isn’t that hilarious?” Draco turned his gaze away from Nott and glared at Zacharias. “Anything useful to contribute, Smith?”   
  
Smith bit down on his bottom lip before answering. “Dragon Pox. Spattergoit. Both are diseases, which are more likely to affect the young and the old.”  
  
Draco’s eyes lit up, his pulse quickened. “Good guess...but no.” He wasn’t sure how to explain it but solving medical mysteries, saving patients that no one else could treat, was like a drug to him. Even the process of brainstorming with these idiots was a quick fix for him. Now, if only his team would actually have something sensible to say.  
  
Theodore exhaled a heavy sigh. “Dragon Pox and Spattergoit  _aren’t_  interesting.” He locked eyes with Draco. “At least not to  _you_. The symptoms are straightforward and easy to diagnose. Even Potter and any of his idiots down in the clinic could have figured that out. The Great Malfoy wouldn’t take on a dull case like that. No mystery.”   
  
He ran a hand through his long dark hair, which was neatly parted on the side. He also reeked of cologne. It was kind of pathetic how hard he tried to impress Granger. Oh, well, pathetic or not, at least it gave him useful ammunition to mock him and perfect Granger. He loved watching his team squirm.  
  
“Scrofungulus and even Vanishing Sickness are rarer in children but still possible. I vote for those.”  
  
Draco’s eyes widened even further. The brains of his team were finally spinning, waking up. “Excellent.” He waved his walking stick in the air. “Both are extremely rare in children but completely possible. That’s the way to think outside the cauldron.”   
  
Theodore smirked. “See, we aren’t completely useless, Malfoy.”  
  
“I suppose,” Draco admitted grudgingly, “too bad you’re  _wrong._ ”  
  
“Wrong? Those are the only illnesses that could affect children—”  
  
A loud cough interrupted Nott. Hermione appeared in the doorway. “Unless,” she said, a smug look on her face, “the patient is a six-year-old Muggle boy.”  
  
Nott’s thick eyebrows practically receded into his hairline. Smith started choking.   
  
“Excuse me?”  
  
“Muggle?”  
  
“Yes, we’re treating a Muggle boy,” Hermione explained, “a six-year-old boy named Marvin. After examining him, he presents with bloody diarrhoea, dehydration, and coordination issues.”   
  
“Excellent.” Draco's voice was high-pitched and enthusiastic. “I knew there would be Ataxia.” He ignored Nott and Smith’s questions and started writing on the board again. Underneath Esther’s name, he wrote seven symptoms:   
  
  
**Esther**  
1\. Bloody Diarrhoea  
2\. Ataxia  
3\. Kidney Failure  
4\. Pituitary Failure  
5\. Liver Failure  
6\. Respiratory Distress  
7\. DEATH   
  
  
And then underneath Marvel he wrote:   
  
  
**Marvel**  
1\. Bloody Diarrhoea  
2\. Ataxia  
3\. Kidney Failure ???  
  
  
  
“We have two patients?” Granger asked.  
  
Nott jerked his head away from Granger and faced Draco. “Is this some type of joke? We’re not seriously taking on a Muggle patient?”  
  
Draco was about to open his mouth to respond but then changed his mind. Instead, he Summoned a chair and sat right in front of his whiteboard, waiting for the fireworks to begin.  
  
“What do you mean a joke, Nott?” Granger’s teeth were gritted and her tone venomous. “I hope you’re not implying that treating Muggles is beneath us?”   
  
She took a step closer to Nott and crept her right hand into her lab coat, fingering her wand. Instead of backing down, Nott jumped up from his chair and met her glare for glare. Their faces were barely an inch apart; the tension was palpable.  
  
“And what if I am?”   
  
Draco couldn’t contain his amusement; he would have clapped if he weren’t afraid that it would break up the argument. This was better than his afternoon soaps!   
  
“If you _are_...then you, Theodore Nott, are the most arrogant, insensitive, and idiotic Healer that I have ever had the misfortune of working with—”  
  
Draco pressed a single finger to his lips and motioned for Smith to join him. Smith obliged and pulled up a chair. “Should we do something about this?” he whispered, as they watched Hermione continue to yell at Nott.  
  
“Nah. There are two possible outcomes. Nott will either admit that Granger owns his bollocks and back down or they’re going to shag right here on the table.” Draco chuckled, not even trying to conceal his childish glee. He wriggled his eyebrows. “Personally, I’m okay with either option.”   
  
At first Smith gave him a strange, almost confused look, not that Smith’s face wasn’t permanently stuck that way, but then he laughed too. “Good one, Boss...especially because you’re bent. Too bad we don’t have any pop—”  
  
Draco nodded but ignored the rest of Smith’s comment. He was certain that it was another attempt at kissing his arse. For years, Draco used to wonder why the hell Smith was a Hufflepuff? Other than idiocy, he didn’t exhibit any of the nauseating Hufflepuff traits, but Draco soon discovered that the arrogant persona was only for show. Around Nott, Granger, and anyone else that Smith felt the need to impress, he acted like a smarmy git, but whenever he was alone with Draco, he turned back into another sad, doormat Hufflepuff, desperately trying to brown-nose his boss.   
  
It was vexing at times, but mostly came in handy when Draco needed Smith to do something that Granger and Nott refused. He supposed that Smith wasn’t  _that_  bad. For a Hufflepuff. But now wasn’t the time to think about Smith—he had pigtail pulling and foreplay between his two other team members to entertain him.  
  
The argument between Nott and Granger had come to a standstill. They were both exasperated and out of breath. The sexual tension between them was so high that Draco was certain in the next minute Granger would either slap Nott or snog him.  
  
Unfortunately, she chose neither option and instead turned away from Nott, giving him her back.  
  
“Healer Malfoy,” she said, in what Draco knew to be her ‘professional’ voice, “will you please tell Theodore why we’re going to treat this patient?” She folded her arms across her chest. “And—why he deserves the same respect and courtesy of any of our wizarding patients.”  
  
“How about...you tell  _Healer Granger_ that this is just another one of your mind games to see how we’ll react. You _hate_ Muggles.”  
  
Draco pursed his lips and then batted his eyelashes. “Moi, hate Muggles?” He pretended to be offended. “Why would ever think such a thing? I  _love_  Muggles.”  
  
Nott deepened his scowl. “Ahh, that must have been some other Draco Malfoy who held all those Young Pureblood Supremacists meetings in the Slytherin Common Room every other Thursday night.” He shrugged. “And if you want to get technical, there was the whole siding with the Dark Lord thing too.”  
  
“Malfoy, tell me that’s  _not_  true. The part about the meetings. I already know about Voldemort.” The threat was obvious in Hermione’s eyes.   
  
Draco shook his head and clicked his tongue. “Just because our fathers were supporters of Lord Snake Face doesn’t mean that we have to hate Muggles too. I’m rather disappointed in you, Theodore. You would think a wizard of your level and intellect could look past—”  
  
“Sod off, Malfoy. You were a bloody Death Eater too.”  
  
Draco pushed his hair back from his forehead and sighed. “You make one little,  _insignificant_  mistake as a teenager and the whole world holds it against you—”  
  
“I wouldn’t call it insignificant—”  
  
“Silence!”   
  
Three surprised heads turned around to face Smith. “Enough with the arguing.” He pointed at Nott and Granger.“You two...go fuck in a broom closet or something, and Malfoy, are we taking this case or not?”  
  
“How absurd. I am not sleeping with Nott,” Hermione said, offended. “That is completely unprofessional.”  
  
“Yeah, yeah, princess, plead your case to the Wizengamot on your own time.” Draco raised both eyebrows and smiled. “And yes, Smith, we are taking this case. Think of it as a challenge.  _A game_. Who can keep the Muggle from dying?”   
  
He stood from his chair and pointed at the forgotten whiteboard with his walking stick. “Now, let’s get back to the patient and anyone that has a problem treating our patient is _fired_.”  
  
He gave Nott a smug look and waited for his reaction. Although Nott was still frowning, he nodded. Granger smiled at both of them approvingly. Success.   
  
“So who’s first?” Draco asked.   
  
“I don’t know about Esther,” Smith said, “but the boy looks like he just has gastroenteritis and dehydration.”   
  
“We have two patients?” Hermione asked again, ignoring Smith’s response. “Where’s Esther’s chart?”  
  
“Not exactly.” Draco frowned. “There’s no chart. This is a case from awhile back. An older woman came in with the same symptoms as Martin and died within 24 hours.”  
  
Hermione gasped. Smith stuck by his dehydration diagnosis and Nott was strangely silent.   
  
“Come on, where are the swots I hired? All of those symptoms except for the last one are treatable. We can get ahead of this thing.” Draco tossed the erasable quill to Nott. “Theodore, don’t you have anything to share with the class?”   
  
Nott shook his head and looked at Draco sadly as if he had just figured something out. “I remember that name now. You lost a patient, Draco, 15 years ago. It’s time to let go. This kid has dehydration like Smith said.”   
  
“No gold star for you, Nott. Anyone else?”  
  
“Fifteen years ago. How could that possibly be relevant? The chances that it’s the same case, same illness, are almost impossible,” Granger said.   
  
“The time frame between cases is irrelevant. It’s the same case because I say it is.” Draco snorted. “The three of you are useless today. Good thing I already have an idea. Granger and Smith go run a colonoscopy on the boy.” He paused and waited for the confused faces of his team. God, he loved to mess with them. “Test for Erdheim-Chester.”  
  
“Erdheim-Chester’s disease? That’s incredibly rare. There’s no sense in putting Marvin through such an uncomfortable test. Lymphoma is also possible and all I need is some blood, much safer for a six-year-old.”  
  
“Go run my test, Granger. I know that Potter may be the boss of the hospital, but this is  _my_  team. You knew what working under me was going to be like when I hired you. Do we have a problem? I can let you out of your contract at any time.”  
  
Hermione opened her mouth, but then closed it. “No, I'll run the test.”   
  
Draco clapped his hands and laced his fingers, rubbing them together. “Excellent. If this test is negative, we’ll test for lymphoma. Now, you two scram...and Nott, I need a word.”

 

 

*** * ***

  
  
  
  
While Granger and Smith ran their tests, Nott lectured Draco for a good thirty minutes. He told Draco that he was insane—that he’d been working with Draco the longest and wasn’t going to stand by while he tortured another patient in his obsessive quest to redeem Esther. He threatened to go to Potter and Goyle. For the most part, he listened and nodded along until Nott attempted to comfort him. That was too much. Draco despised pity.  
  
“You fucked up and failed, Draco. You’re not God. It doesn’t mean you’re a bad Healer because you lost a patient. It only means you’re human. You  _care_.”  
  
Draco gulped. His feelings about Esther were not something he wanted to discuss. _Ever_. “I’ve lost plenty of sodding patients. If I could’ve done the autopsy, I would’ve known what happened. I missed something, Theo, something big. She’s dead because of me. And this boy might be too.”  
  
“It’s not your fault, Draco. You did your best.” Nott sighed. “Even if this boy does have Esther’s disease, we’re going to solve it this time. He’s _not_ going to die.”  
  
Draco bit down on his bottom lip and gave Nott his most pathetic look. He’d been friends with Theodore since childhood. He was a decent bloke and good friend but way too easy to manipulate for a Slytherin. “Are you really going to tell, Potter?”  
  
“I suppose not. But no more crazy tests, Malfoy. This kid’s a Muggle and Esther was a witch.” He gave Malfoy a stern look. “You can’t experiment on him with potions or Potter will kill you. And  _me_.”  
  
“Spoilsport.”  
  
  
  
**To be continued…**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for reading! I'd love to hear your thoughts on Draco's team.


	3. Harry's Secret

 

*** 3 ***

  
  
  
  
Draco and Nott were indulging themselves in a box of sweets he had swiped from the Mediwizards’ lounge when Smith showed up.  
  
He helped himself to a chocolate and then smugly told them that the test was negative. “It’s viral gastroenteritis like I predicted.” He plopped down in the chair closest to Draco and then put his feet up on the table, the soles of his trainers squeaking against the glass. “I win.”   
  
Picking his walking stick up as quietly as possible, Draco leant closer to Smith and then smacked his feet off the table. “Keep your feet off  _my_  table,” he grumbled. “And—you did _not_ win.”  
  
Draco scowled. He liked Smith a lot better when he was kissing his arse rather than showing off. That was his job.   
  
“Sorry, Malfoy, you might be Potter’s Golden Boy, but this time you’re wrong. Not everything is a mysterious illness.” He reached over and patted Draco on the back. “Don’t be a sore loser, mate. I’ll go discharge our patient.”   
  
“Get your hands off me, Smith.” Draco wrinkled his nose. “I don't want your Hufflepuff germs. I've heard their contagious. And—I am your boss  _not_  your mate.”  
  
“Oh, real mature, Malfoy. You lose one case to me and have to resort to childish insults.” Smith curled his bottom lip into a sneer. “You might be my boss, but I'm tired of defending my house to you. Just because I’m a Hufflepuff doesn't mean—”  
  
“Seriously you two, stop.” Nott put himself in between Draco and Smith. He glared at both of them and berated them as if he were an angry mother. “Malfoy, grow up. Zach, sorry to break it to you,  _mate_ , but Hufflepuff sucks.”   
  
“I can't believe your taking his—”  
  
Nott ignored Smith's remark and started walking away from the table towards the doorway. Draco hoped that he wouldn’t go squeal to Potter.   
  
“I'm discharging the patient. No more games.”   
  
Draco gave him a scornful look. “Oh, now you care about the patient? I thought he was  _just_  a Muggle.” Draco stuck his tongue out at Nott. “Stop trying to impress, Granger, she's not even here.”  
  
Nott cursed under his breath, probably grumbling about how much of an arse Draco was. Draco didn't argue. He was an arse, a miserable bastard even, like all the Mediwitches always said, but he never cared what anyone else thought. As long as he was _right_. Being right was more important, which is why he needed to find a way to solve this case. Plus, he couldn’t do that if Nott discharged the patient.  
  
After several seconds, he said, “We need a kidney biopsy. That's where the disease is striking next.”  
  
Nott's eyes grew so wide that Draco was afraid they were going to bulge out of his eye sockets. They were glowing with fear. “You really have gone loony. I'm not letting you do a kidney biopsy on a 6-year-old boy just for your twisted amusement. I'm tired of enabling you, Malfoy. I’m not Goyle. I'll go to Potter right now if I have to.”   
  
_Bollocks,_ Draco thought _, so much for Nott's cooperation and understanding._  
  
“Fine,” Draco grumbled. “Do the kidney biopsy, make Smith run the tests, and then you can discharge the patient.” Draco puckered his lips into a sour expression. “Assuming nothing is wrong with him, of course.”   
  
“I think I rather just go to Potter. You can threaten to fire me again when I get back.”   
  
Nott tried to walk through the door and Draco had to find a way to stop him. He knew that once Nott left the room he'd never be able to chase him. Hexing the idiot was out of the question too because then he'd have to deal with an angry Granger. Instead, he grabbed onto the back of his lab coat, attempting to force him to stay.  
  
“Unhand me, you brute. Just because you’re my boss doesn't mean I won't hit you.”   
  
Nott started shrugging off the coat and flailing his arms like an angry flamingo, leaving Draco with no other choice but to resort to plan B, cursing the idiot. _Screw it_ —he could deal with Granger later. Cursing Nott with a few well-placed boils, should be enough to stop him momentarily. Theodore would never admit it, but he was a vain git.  
  
Lifting his walking stick, Draco was about to hex Nott when Hermione ran in through the door, red faced and out of breath.  
  
“Marvin's not going anywhere.” She bent over, still huffing. “His urine is brown.”  
  
Draco slammed his walking stick on the floor. “Bloody fucking hell. We're too late.” He turned around and glared at Nott. “Well, you got your wish. No biopsy. His kidneys are already failing.”  
  
Eventually, Hermione caught her breath. Her cheeks were still red from exertion, but it was obvious that she was worried. She always played with the hem of her lab coat when she was anxious.  
  
“Should I?”   
  
Draco nodded and then shifted his weight to his good leg. “Yes, go test for lymphoma.” A deep pang throbbed in his left leg as he put any pressure on it at all. Damn, his Pain Potions were wearing off even faster than usual. Today was _not_ a good pain day. He needed another dose and some air.   
  
“I'm taking a break.” He started limping towards the doorway. “Smith go help Granger.”   
  
When he was out the door, he added, “Nott, you can go tattle to Potter now if you want. He's probably taking a nap. Give him my regards.”   


*** * ***

  

Harry let out a relieved sigh as he finished his final fire-call of the day. It had been a nightmare of an afternoon, and he was finally able to relax. Before walking over to the bookshelf behind his desk, he informed his assistant that he was not to be disturbed for the next hour.

As nervous as Martha was Harry actually loved working with her because she never asked any questions. She always answered all of his requests with, “Yes, Healer Potter or right away, Healer Potter, sir.”

Running a hospital was beyond exhausting, so it was essential for his mental health to have at least a few people on his staff that were cooperative, especially since he dealt with the collateral damage of Draco and his diagnostic team on a daily basis.

He wasn't sure what Martha thought he did every time he asked for his hour break. Perhaps she thought he answered letters or took personal fire-calls. Perhaps she even thought that he snuck out for a quick bite to eat or some tea. The truth was actually _so_ much more embarrassing that it didn't matter. Unless he was under Veritaserum, he would never admit to it.

Every afternoon or evening, depending on how long it took him to finish his work for the day, Harry closed all the blinds in his office and then poured himself a drink. He always kept a bottle of good Firewhiskey or scotch in a secret compartment behind his bookcase.

If drinking at work weren’t bad enough, that wasn't his biggest his secret. Yes, drinking while working was on the unethical side, but it was only a temporary solution to his problems. Running a hospital on his own would have been enough to drive the average wizard to the bottle, but for Harry his job wasn't the problem. Although it was draining work, he truly loved it. No, his real problem was Draco fucking Malfoy.

Harry was certain that working with Malfoy would drive him into an early grave. His hair was already going grey at the temples just from dealing with the git's outrageous demands and purposely ignoring every rule in the St James employee contract.

He was _not_ exaggerating.

On days where Malfoy didn't have an interesting case to work on and wanted to push Harry's buttons, he'd walk around with a copy of the contract and check off every rule he broke that day. The contract was 437 pages long and Malfoy had checked off about 90 percent of the rules.

Testing Harry's nerves wasn't even his biggest problem though. For years, Harry dealt with Malfoy trying to annoy him, push him over the edge--that was basically the norm of their relationship since he met the git at 11-years-old. No, the real problem was how attractive the arrogant prat was and how Harry couldn't stop thinking about that one night they slept together back in Healer Training. It was years ago, but no matter how many other relationships Harry had been in, how many blokes he'd shagged, he could never get Malfoy out of his head.

Pining after Malfoy was stupid. Harry knew this. As his boss, he needed to keep the upper hand with Malfoy. Not that it ever worked. And Malfoy— well— Malfoy had issues. Major issues.

Although he might be a medical genius, he was also a complete arse, an overgrown child, and incapable of forming meaningful relationships. Every person that got too close to Malfoy got burnt, so Harry had tried his best to keep his distance. Their relationship was flirtatious but strictly platonic. But that didn't mean that he couldn't fantasize about Malfoy in his spare time. There was no harm in that, right?

After finishing his drink, he sprawled himself out on the leather couch in his office. _God, I'm pathetic_ , he thought,  _Hermione was right. I really do need to get a life outside of this job._ He closed his eyes and tried not to think about Draco's messy blond hair and those piercing grey eyes.

 

 

**To be continued...**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry this chapter was a little on the short side. I promise the next one will be longer to make up for it. Plus, there will be smut! I'd really love to hear your thoughts good or bad on what you think of this Healer fic so far. 
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	4. Draco's Curse

 

*** 4 ***

 

_Harry watched Draco wrap himself in the bed sheets. He leant up against the headboard of the bed and smirked. "Potter...I'm waiting."_

_He couldn't believe that this was actually happening—that after all this time, he would finally shag Draco Malfoy. They were both a bit pissed, but since Draco wasn't slurring his words yet, Harry figured it was okay. Even if Draco regretted sleeping with him in the morning, at least Harry would have had one night with him._

_With a goofy grin on his face, Harry joined Malfoy on the bed and started snogging him. He ran his fingers through Draco's long, messy hair, wrapping the curled ends of his fine locks around his fingers. Who knew that Malfoy actually had wavy hair? Perhaps that was why he always used to wear his hair slicked back at Hogwarts. Harry had assumed it was just to be a prat._

_As Harry continued to kiss Malfoy, he leant into Harry's touch and moaned appreciatively. "Mmm, Potter, you taste good."_

_"You too...Draco."_

_Harry waited. Even though they were friends now, had been friendly for the last year of Healer Training, Malfoy still insisted they call each other by their surnames. Harry always went along with it, but if they were actually going to get intimate and fuck, then Harry wanted to call Malfoy by his first name and Malfoy was going to do the same. Whether he wanted to or not._

_Draco twisted his face into a frown. "Problem?"_

_"No, but I want you to call me, Harry. Just for tonight."_

_Draco sighed loudly, pretending to be annoyed, but then he agreed. "Fine, Harry, are you going to fuck me or what?"_

_Harry's eyes grew wide. "Me...fuck you?" His voice squeaked._

_Usually, Harry was versatile in bed. With most of his partners, they switched even if Harry did prefer topping. But the last thing that he ever imagined was that Malfoy, the most controlling, manipulative person he'd ever met, would ask Harry to top. Merlin, he'd been dreaming about Malfoy for so long that Draco could have asked him to be tied up and upside down when they fucked and Harry still would have agreed. But this, this was better than a fantasy._

_Malfoy raised an eyebrow. "Unless you're not up to it, Har-ry?" He lifted his chin defiantly and glared._

_Draco's gaze was smouldering; Harry's throat went dry and all he could do was nod._

_"Excellent. Now why don't you—"_

_Harry didn't let him finish. "Shut up." He ripped the sheets off Malfoy and started ravishing him. Tonight he received a gift, a chance of the lifetime; he needed to make the best of it. Perhaps if Harry gave Malfoy a night to remember there might even be a repeat performance. He tried not to get his hopes up too high._

_Instead, Harry trailed kisses all the way down Draco's chest and abdomen, savouring the musky odour and salty taste of his skin. God, he tasted good. He licked circles around Draco's belly button — slowly, eagerly, passionately — making note of exactly how it affected him, how loud it made Draco moan. Oh, he could get used to this._

_As Draco continued to squirm beneath him, Harry started to massage his thighs, kneading the strong muscles and trying to relieve some of the tension that Harry knew Draco carried there from his injury. Draco's left thigh was heavily scarred, the muscle half the size of the right leg._

_As soon as Harry placed his hands on it, Draco pushed him off. Apparently, he was sensitive about it. Harry didn't know why since he thought everything about Malfoy was beautiful._

_"Stop it, Harry. Just fuck me already." Draco's voice was deep and raspy. "I want you to take me dry. Make it hurt." He bit down on his bottom lip and furrowed his brow. After several seconds, he added, "Don't hold anything back."_

_Harry gasped. Hearing Draco speak in that sexy, fucking voice, begging Harry to take him dry, almost made him come on the spot._

_"Alright, I won't hold anything back."_

_Carefully, Harry spread Draco's legs open, taking care not to put too much pressure on his left leg. He picked Draco's right leg up and wrapped it around his waist, leaving the left leg on the bed where it wouldn't get banged up. The position was a bit awkward but Harry would adjust._

_Without warning, he lined up his cock against Draco's hole and pushed in. Oh, fuck, he was so tight. Harry closed his eyes for a moment and bit down on his tongue to control himself. If Draco wanted hard, he would get fucking hard._

_Once he was ready, Harry thrust into Draco. He quickly picked up the pace and dug his nails into Draco's back. At first, Harry was concerned that he might be going too fast too soon; he usually liked to build up to this fast of a pace, but Draco had said not to hold back. Harry didn't want to disappoint, couldn't disappoint him, not after longing for him all this time._

_When Draco moaned for "more" and "harder", Harry knew that he wasn't hurting him. He obliged, started fucking Draco, harder, deeper, faster. Harry didn't think he had ever fucked anyone like this before; his entire body felt like it was humming; his heart raced against his ribs._

_"Draco, Draco," he cried, "I—"_

 

 

*** * ***

 

 

"Potter, Potter, wake up!"

A strong pair of hands shook Harry on the shoulder, rousing him from sleep. "Go away," he mumbled. "Sleeping." Harry didn't bother opening his eyes. The last thing he wanted was to be woken up from _that_ dream, one of his favourite memories.

A familiar voice snorted and shook him again. "Yes, I can see that, Potter, but I need to speak with you."

Harry recognised the voice as Theodore Nott and opened his eyes.

"The sooner we talk," Nott added, "the sooner you can get back to wanking over Malfoy."

_Fuck. Fuck. Fuck._ Nott had heard him. He must have been talking in his sleep again. This was exactly why Harry had told Martha not to let anyone bother him. "I don't know what you're talking about." Harry tried to ignore the heat that crept up his cheeks.

Nott rolled his eyes. "Whatever. The point is that the patient you assigned to Malfoy, his—"

Harry blinked stupidly. "What patient? I didn't assign Malfoy a patient."

Nott gestured with his hands, waving them around dismissively. "Marvel, Marvin, something like that. I was about to discharge him but—"

Harry panicked. He couldn't believe that this was happening. Again. He thought that Malfoy had actually listened to him. For the first time ever. He was such a gullible twat. _Everybody Lies_. That was Malfoy's mantra.

"Marvin was only dehydrated. He's fine."

Nott shook his head and looked at Harry solemnly. "I'm sorry. That's what I thought too, but his kidneys are failing. Granger thinks its lymphoma but..."

"But—Malfoy doesn't agree and is probably trying to run all sorts of crazy and dangerous tests on the patient."

Harry closed his eyes and took a deep breath. _Merlin, grant me patience_ , he thought, for what was probably the hundredth time that day.

"Go keep an eye on him," Harry instructed, "maybe tell Goyle. I'll be there in a few minutes."

Nott nodded again, that serious, pained look still in his eyes. He turned around and walked out of Harry's office, shutting the door quietly behind him.

As soon as Nott was gone, Harry threw the empty glass on his desk against the wall and yelled, "Merlin's saggy tits!"

Of all his patients, why did it have to be Marvin, the one little boy that reminded Harry of himself? Harry felt tears welling up in his eyes. He tried to take deep breaths again. Panicking didn't solve anything.

Some fucking day he was having. One of his favourite patients was dying, he was blue-balled, and had a charity dinner he had to attend in two hours. How would he survive this? And as usual, he couldn't get Draco Malfoy off his mind.

 

 

*** * ***

 

 

Draco sat on the floor in the hallway outside his office. He bounced a large red ball against the wall over and over again. Playing with his ball usually helped him think, but today it was useless. Marvin was still dying and Draco had no idea what was killing him. If anything, his symptoms were progressing faster than Esther's ever did. At this rate, he'd be dead before the end of the night.

Foolishly, he decided to take his anger for being wrong about Erdheim-Chester's disease out on the wall. He chucked the ball as hard as he could, forgetting that it was impossible to beat the wall. The ball bounced and skidded out of Draco's reach, rolling down the long hallway.

"Fuck." Draco wanted to go after the ball, but the pain in his leg was too intense. Lately, it had been getting worse. That was the problem with curse wounds. Even though the initial wound had been cleansed and healed, the damage to his nerves and muscle tissue was irreversible.

Body parts damaged by Dark magic could not be salvaged, only treated. Thanks to the bloody Dark Lord and Draco's stupidity, he'd have a permanent reminder of his failure. The muscle in his leg would continue to deteriorate until one day he would no longer be able to walk. That should have happened five years ago. He thought that all the treatments he went under and potions he took had at least halted the muscle deterioration. Apparently, he was wrong.

For now, all he could do was mask the symptoms—until he had time to run more tests on himself. With the ball out of his reach, he decided to focus on alleviating his pain instead. He pulled a small phial out of his pocket that held a blue potion. Holding up the phial to the light, he read the label — the new hospital policy that Potter had insisted on — so that the incompetent Healers that worked at this hospital wouldn't poison the patients.

_Take 1/4 of the phial with food every 4-8 hours as needed._

He unscrewed the stopper and then raised the phial higher in the air, level with his head.

"Cheers," he said, toasting to himself as he downed the entire bottle in one gulp. "Mmm, citrusy."

He continued to think and started twirling the phial in between his fingers. It wasn't as much fun as his ball, but it at least gave him something to help him focus. Hopefully the pain would subside soon.

Lost in his thoughts, Draco didn't notice that Granger had sat down next to him.

She had a bitter look on her face. "Don't show off your illegal drug use in front of me."

"Illegal? Pain Potions are perfectly legal, Granger. Goyle wrote me a script."

She looked unconvinced. "Uh-huh. And did he quadruple the dosage too? You're supposed to take 1/4 of the phial for your leg."

"Not if you're in a shit load of pain." Draco discreetly put the empty phial back into his pocket and then gestured with his hands. "Now, I'm _not_ your patient, Granger, tell me about, Marcus."

"Marvin."

"Whatever."

Granger scowled and started to get up from the floor. "I don't have time for this."

Draco sighed. "Fine, tell me about, Marvin, pretty please?"

Granger thinned her lips and regarded him closely. "The tests were inconclusive. We found a mass in his pituitary gland."

"So it is lymphoma. Congratulations, Granger. I always knew you were my favourite team member. Go start the treatment."

Hermione tilted her head to the side and chuckled. "Don't flatter me just yet. The blood tests were negative. Not consistent with lymphoma."

"They could be wrong."

Hermione shook her head, eyes pained. "I checked them three times."

"Oh, bugger." Draco looked up at ceiling. He'd hadn't been sold on the lymphoma diagnosis, but it was the best idea they had. They were back to square one. No fucking clue.

After several seconds, he spoke. "So...we still have no idea what this is, but it's something that acts like lymphoma but isn't.'"

"But, Draco, there isn't anything—"

"Don't you think I bloody know that, Granger?"

Hermione glared at him disapprovingly and reached into her pocket.

Draco gulped. "Sorry, I'm just—"

"Worried about the patient." Hermione's expression softened.

Draco coughed. "I said no such thing. I would never—"

Hermione shook her head and laughed. "Stop that. Why do you always pretend to be such a miserable bastard? You're a Healer, Malfoy. You _save_ people's lives. Every day. Face it, you're no longer the villain." She widened her smile, her brown eyes shining with amusement. "In fact, I'd say you're one of the good guys."

Draco's eyes widened in horror. "Take that back, Granger. I will never be one of the good guys. I'm _evil_."

Granger rolled her eyes. "Yes, so very _evil_. Now, why don't you use those powers of _evil_ of yours to save another patient?" After a moment, the anger disappeared from Granger's face, worry replacing it. "What do we do now?"

Draco closed his eyes and lifted his chin up towards the ceiling. Usually, a million ideas were zooming through his mind. He always had a plan and backup plans A, B, and C, ready to go at a moment's notice. But this case — Esther's case — was not an ordinary case. He'd been obsessing about it for the last 15 years. And was out of ideas.

For so many years, he was certain it was Erdheim-Chester, practically dying for another patient to exhibit those same symptoms, so he could redeem himself. Nothing else fit. Nothing else made sense. He was actually... _wrong_.

"Draco," Hermione said kindly, "I don't mean to rush you, but we don't have a lot time. We have to do something."

Draco opened his eyes. "We don't know what this thing is, but at least we know the path it'll take. Liver failure is next so—"

Hermione's eyes lit up and she jumped off the floor. "We have to protect the liver!"

"Exactly. Get him started on as many treatments as possible to protect his liver. Keep him monitored at all times. It isn't a cure but—"

"It should buy us some time." Hermione beamed and then she bent over to press a soft kiss on Draco's cheek. "You never cease to amaze me, Draco Malfoy. And thank you, for taking this case. For giving Marvin some hope." Her eyes started shining all earnestly again as only Gryffindors could and Draco started to panic.

"He's an orphan and Harry is really attach—"

Wiping his cheek, Draco pretended to be disgusted. "Spare me the sentimental drivel. I'm sure the boy and Potter can compare wretched orphan tales later. Just go save his liver and tell Goyle about the mass you found."

Hermione grinned again, delighted like a school girl on a shopping spree, and then ran down the hallway.

When that witch was on a mission, no one could stop her. That was exactly why Draco had hired her.

 

**To be continued…**

  


 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Thanks so much for reading! I was planning on going for a run this afternoon, but the weather is so terrible that I decided to work on updating early instead. = )  
> I'd love to hear your thoughts about the smut and particularly Draco's curse. It really broke my heart to give Draco such a dark curse, but it was necessary for the story. A complete first draft of this story is finished, so it will be updated weekly until complete.
> 
>  
> 
> Cheers,
> 
> Icicle


End file.
